


A Different Kind Of Hunger

by italktoomuch



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 14:35:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4839095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/italktoomuch/pseuds/italktoomuch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I’m tempted. I’m so tempted. I feel like I have an itch that I can’t scratch – but it’s so much more than that. The feeling of hunger is back again, only different. Not stronger than the hunger I feel for Peeta, but different. And now that I am certain that I won’t change my mind, there is only one thing stopping me.</p><p>Me.</p><p>Post Mockingjay, pre and post epilogue. PS, there’s toastbabies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Different Kind Of Hunger

A Different Kind of Hunger…

He always wanted children. I knew that. I’m sure he knew that.

I’m also sure that I made it clear that children were something that I couldn’t think about in my future. That I wouldn’t open that door.

And he smiled, kissed my hair and told me that it was okay. If I didn’t want them, then it was okay, he just wanted me.

But I know he still hopes. And I’m not going to tell him that he may be turning me around, because what if I change my mind again? I can’t do that to him.

*

It creeps up on me. The feeling, the longing. And then it hits me like a truck. We’re in the bakery, working together. And in comes a mother and her boy. He must only be about three. He wobbles on unsteady but enthusiastic legs and Peeta makes his way out from behind the counter to hand him the sugar cookies and accept his money. The sight makes my heart clench and my stomach flutter. I swore I wouldn’t do this; that I wouldn’t feel this way. I can’t feel this way. If I tell him and change my mind, I’ll break him beyond repair, and I won’t do that, I remind myself, my eyes trailing away from the scene.

Thing is, I’m certain that this feeling is here to stay.

*

I’m right. It doesn’t go away. It wasn’t just seeing Peeta with children that done it – it was everything. The school kids that I would see walking to and from their classes each day, babies in prams, little chicks and baby deer with their mothers in the woods that I couldn’t bring myself to shoot, even stupid cartoons and images on TV. And now, when I close my eyes at night, I can imagine a little baby, in my arms, with Peeta’s hair and my eyes and I want them.

But if I let that imagine further into my unconscious as I drift off, I wake from the most awful nightmares. I can’t even tell Peeta when he brings me out of them. I can’t tell him because he doesn’t know that I’m feeling this way, and I couldn’t bare to tell him of the tortures that are inflicted to our fantasy children in my sleep.

*

I’m tempted. I’m so tempted. I feel like I have an itch that I can’t scratch – but it’s so much more than that. The feeling of hunger is back again, only different. Not stronger than the hunger I feel for Peeta, but different.

And now that I am certain that I won’t change my mind, there is only one thing stopping me.

Me.

I don’t deserve to be happy. I don’t deserve this chance. And who knows if I’d even be any good at it, if I’d be enough. I don’t deserve to be a mother.

But Peeta does. He deserves to have children, to be a father.

*

You’re only saying you don’t deserve it because you’re scared. Finally I’ve figured it out. After far too long arguing with myself, holding myself back from this, I decide to accept the truth. I’m scared.

And even then, I still want to have a baby, Peeta’s baby.

*

I have to tell him. The frustration of wanting to have his child and him not knowing is pushing me to breaking point. I have to take the leap. I’m with Peeta, the jump will be fine.

He walks in to our bedroom, his hair and chest wet from his shower, a towel wrapped across his hips. I lick my lips and trace his body with my eyes, running them in reverse from the beads of water that soak into the towel, up his torso and across his chest before I meet his eyes.

All my thoughts are gone and throw myself at him, lips first.

My mouth moves greedily and desperately on his, my hands sliding up his chest and catching the remaining droplets of shower spray from his warm skin. He only hesitates for a second before I feel him smile into my mouth and kiss me back, his hands gripping my waist and sliding down to the hem of my shirt.

I let my mouth trail away from his, pressing slow kisses to his jaw, down his neck to his shoulder. From here I can trace the first scar down the outside of his broad chest. His hands desperately push at my shirt, my own reaching down to his towel.

“I think you have too much on.” His voice is deep and gravelly and it vibrates through me.

I smile, pull back quickly and remove my shirt in seconds, my mouth back at his torso. “Better-?” I gasp, his hands reaching for my breasts as soon as they were free. I supress a groan and smile at the goose bumps my breath has made on his skin. Thumbs on my nipples, I bite my lip. If he wants teasing, I can do that. My tongue darts out and I find a forgotten bead of water, tracing it back up to his neck, holding his gaze. He groans and I release his towel.

We fumble to the bed, I toss the rest of my clothing to the floor and hover over him, my legs either side of his and our chests pressed together. He smiles widely up at me and I pause to take him in, letting my fingers pull through his hair.

“I love you, Katniss.” He sounds in awe and looks at me in wonder. I can only imagine that I have the same look on my face too.

The feeling surges up, I can’t contain it, it’s bubbling over, I- I-.

“I want to have a baby.” The words blurt out before I can stop them. I want to pick them up and stuff them back into my stupid head and save it for another time. But I can’t.

Peeta doesn’t move, except for his eyes widening.

“I-I mean. You asked me before… and I know I said no… but I do. I want to. With you.”

His hands cup my face gently and he forces my eyes to look at him. “Please tell me you’re not just saying that for me. Because I only need you.”

My hands grip his wrists and I turn my head to kiss one of his palms. “No. I’m not. I’m being selfish and I want this too. I’m scared and I doubt I deserve it, but I want to.”

He pulls my face to his, and I melt into his lips.

“You deserve to be happy, Katniss.”

“I am, with you.”

He smiles again, “You really want this?”

My chest flutters, chills run through my bones. I do want this. I do.

“Really.”

*

“Katniss, that’s it. You’re doing great.”

I moan, low and throaty. It doesn’t feel like I’m doing great. My hair is wet with sweat, my braid sticking to my neck. I’m tired, so so tired. And I’m still in labour.

Fifteen hours. And counting. I started pushing not long ago. It feels like it’s been forever.

I’m scared.

What if she doesn’t love me? What if I’m no good? What if something happens, what if I can’t protect her?

Peeta’s hand grips mine and his other pushes my hair back from my sticky face. I look up at him and he smiles at me gently, his eyes wide in awe. “I am so proud of you.”

“She’s … not even here… yet,” I pant and throw my head back, squeezing my eyes shut. He doesn’t even argue with me that we don’t know it’s a girl, he just smiles wider.

“I know. But, honestly Katniss this is … surreal.”

“You’re … telling me?”

He laughs and I want to join in with him, but pain ripples across my stomach and throughout my entire being once more.

I grip his hand and bare down with all my might. I can hear my blood pumping in my head, and Peeta’s soft words in my ear. It hurts.

And then it’s gone. For a moment I’m gone, I’m floating in place of me. I feel light and weightless and almost numb.

Is she here? Is she okay? Let her be okay. If anything happens to her it’ll be all my fault, I didn’t look after her. Is she –

Her cries fill the room, drawing me back to reality, and instantly I feel tears on my cheeks, and a smile on my face. I think Peeta cuts her cord, I can’t be sure because all I can do is look at her.

It’s selfish, but I reach my hands out to her. I need to see her, to make sure she is okay, to hold her. I want to hold her first.

The second she is placed into my arms the joy that spills from my heart floods through me and tames whatever fear I had. It all seems useless, all that fear and worry. I want this, I want her. I need to protect her and make her strong and wonderful and her. But I have no doubt that I love her. She is loved and nothing will ever change that.

I press a kiss to her wet forehead, and pull her close to my chest. I can’t stop smiling at her. Her little red lips and pink skin and wrinkled forehead, her ten, tiny perfect fingers and dark hair. Her skin is soft and warm and without a blemish, unlike both of her parents, the scars, burns and old wounds covering our bodies. I vow to keep her skin as dissimilar to my own, in that respect, as I can.

“Peeta, look at her,” I whisper hoarsely. I’m already crying, the tears running off my cheeks, but I’m close to joining my daughter and balling. My daughter.

His hand caresses her head, stroking at her dark hair with a feather light touch.

“I can’t even tell you how much I love you, Katniss. How much I love both of you.”

I tear my eyes away from her, gripping her closer to me as I do, and look to him. He is staring at her, drinking in everything about her, his eyes glossing over and his face awash with happiness. He meets my eyes and his other hand encases my head, pulling me to his chest. His lips press firmly to my sweat-dampened hair and he speaks lowly as he pulls back. “Thank you. Thank you.”

*

I struggle but I can’t move. I shout but my voice breaks. I cry out and I feel my tears hot on my face. No. No. Don’t hurt her. Not her.

My eyes fly open and my chest heaves, an awful, broken, wounded sound escaping my throat. Peeta’s arms are enveloping me quickly, and I cling to his shoulders, burying my head in his chest.

“They – had… they had Willow,” I force through dreadful sobs, deep and painful in my chest. “My baby…” I squeeze my eyes shut to try and stop my tears and the images from my nightmare, but it just makes the latter worse.

Peeta tries to soothe me, one hand gripping my back, the other rubbing in gentle circles. “It’s okay, you’re here, we’re here, right here at home. She’s sleeping next door, she’s safe. It’s okay, Katniss, Willow is safe.”

I cling to him and his words and let the nightmare loosen its hold on me. It is fading, and I focus on Peeta. Safe. With a final shuddering breath I fall limp into him, his lips pressing atop my hair. The terrible panic and heartbreak remains bubbling in me, and I know only one thing that will help it now.

“I need to see her,” I whisper, pulling back slightly to see his face. His eyes shimmer in the moonlight, catching on his eyelashes; he hates seeing me like this. He nods silently, his arms loosening from around me. I feel torn. I want to stay in his arms too, but the pull to our daughter is so strong, that I know I can’t. Before I leave, I press my lips to his in a soft caress, my wet cheeks on his slightly stubbled jaw.

I tiptoe silently out of our room and swiftly into the one next to ours. I tell myself I won’t wake her, that I just need to see that she’s there, that she’s safe and in no danger.

The moonlight streaks through her open window and I smile at the sight. She sleeps like her father. The worry dissolves through my chest, she is safe, and I know I should leave now to avoid waking her. But the worry has left behind a selfish part of me that needs to go to her.

I’m by her side in seconds, crouched down and level with her so close I can hear her breath from her slightly parted lips. My hand strokes through her hair, pulled into two tiny braids that have mostly unravelled, dark curls springing free.

I sigh. I love her so much.

I stay like this for a few minutes, deciding its best that we both at least try to sleep. I place a kiss to her head, breathing in her sweet baby smell. She may have celebrated her second birthday already but I can still smell her. I go to stand but a little hand and voice stop me.

“Mama.”

The word, her voice, her tiny hand gripping mine, do something to me every time. Like electricity pulsing through me, it shatters through my veins and melts me inside in a warm puddle. I am, and always will be tethered to her by some invisible thread that I won’t ever let break.

“Hey, Sweetie, shh I’m here, yes.” I hush, my hand resuming its place on her head.

“Mama,” she breathes with a small smile to me, not quite asleep but not awake either.

Her eyes catch the light, heavy eyelashes fluttering, and a warm feeling shoots through me at the sight of them in the moonlight. Blue. Just like her father’s. She may look like my mini-me, but those eyes are all Peeta.

“Go back to sleep, Honey. Shhh.”

My soothing tone pushes her under the tendrils of sleep once more, her grip of my hand still firm and determined to keep me here. She yawns delicately and she gives in the fight to keep her eyes open, a light sigh following.

I smile, a soft puff of air escaping my nose. I am calm again.

I detangle my hand from hers gently, pull the covers over her shoulders and make my way back to Peeta’s arms.

*

“Goodnight, Sweet pea.” Peeta pulls the covers up to Willow’s chin and kisses her goodnight. “Sweet pea” is his favourite pet-name for her, although between the two of us, we must have hundreds. I stand in the doorway, leaning on the frame with a warm smile creeping on to my face. She giggles, a sweet melody of lilts and squeals that make my heart glow in my chest, as he pulls away and his hands dance over her sides lightly.

“Papa! You have to kiss bunny too!”

“Of course! Goodnight Bunny!” He kisses the soft toy on the nose and Willow giggles again, pulling it to her chest tightly.

“Get some sleep, Willow. I love you.”

His voice is soft and hushed and I feel a lump in my throat. No matter how many times I hear him say it, or see him with her, I am still overwhelmed by it all. By the love.

“Mmm-hmm… love you…”

And suddenly her eyes dart to me. I smile wider at her, blowing a kiss. Her hands reach out. “Mama!”

Peeta’s head whips round and his smile is so warm and bright, it could light a country or melt rocks. He stands and I walk into the room to meet him halfway. We don’t stop, he briefly clasps my hand and murmurs, “I’ll meet you in bed,” with a quick wink. I laugh and shake my head, but he knows I’ll be there.

“Mama!” she calls again and I continue to her.

“Yes, Willow?” I sit on the edge of her bed, leaning an arm across her small body and pushing her hair from her face with my other hand.

“Mama,” she sighs and wraps both her hands around mine. I lean down, dusting my lips over her forehead, something she has loved me doing since she was a baby.

“It’s bedtime, sleepy baby,” I breathe to her hair and watch her try to fight a yawn.

“Sing!”

“You’ll be asleep before I finish.”

“Please Mama! Please sing!”

She lets my hand go and curls into a ball, closing her eyes and cuddling her rabbit toy, knowing I’m going to do it anyway. I smirk and lift my hand to run my fingers lightly down her face. She steals herself and smiles, though she keeps her eyes closed. I continue to tickle her face, stroking with delicate fingertips and watch her breaths even as I sing her an old lullaby.

Hush little baby, don’t say a word.

Papa’s gonna buy you a Mockingbird.

And if that Mockingbird don’t sing,

Papa’s gonna buy you a diamond ring.

And if that diamond ring turns to brass,

Papa’s gonna buy you a looking glass.

And if that looking glass gets broke,

Papa’s going to buy you a billy goat.

And if that billy goat runs away,

Mama’s gonna buy you another today.

My voice trails to nothing more than a whisper by the last line. My own father used to sing this to me when I was young, and I remember him singing it to Prim too.

“I love you, baby,” I whisper to her sleeping self. It doesn’t matter that she won’t hear me, or that she isn’t awake to return it.

I sit for a minute, my fingers still tracing her face, skin silken and smooth and perfect. How could we have made her?

The feeling’s here again. That burning, hungry feeling. Selfish and so so strong. I’ve felt it for weeks. In my chest burning and growing, in the butterflies in my stomach.

I slip out of the room quickly, flicking off the light and leaving the nightlight on. One last look back and I make for my own bedroom, tugging up my shirt as I go.

Peeta is pulling back the bedcovers when I enter, standing in only his boxers. He sits on the edge and makes about removing his prosthetic, while I too strip to my underwear, slipping under the covers to join him.

I place my head on his chest and a hand over his stomach, and he strokes my hair. I’m not going to ask him like last time. We’re adults, we have to talk through this properly. My fingers trace the lines of his stomach and his lips find my hair. I’m needy and hungry and I almost growl before I speak.

“Peetacanwetryforanother?”

I don’t expect him to know what I said, I’m not even sure I know what I said. But it’s out there and I’m going to have to come clean now.

He shifts, turning to angle himself over me and leaning down to connect our lips. I can feel him hard through his boxers.

Pulling back, he smiles. “I thought you’d never ask.”

**Author's Note:**

> There are about a thousand versions of that lullaby, so I just went with the one I knew - thanks for reading!!


End file.
